


The Kids

by SovaySovay



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anxiety, Bullying, Child!Lock, Fire, Imaginary Friend, Loneliness, Neglect, Night, Thinking, alcohol mention, death (mention only), ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-09 21:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1998432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SovaySovay/pseuds/SovaySovay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night in 1983, a group of children is gazing up at the sky above them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Holmeses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queseyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queseyo/gifts).



_Me, I imagine places that I have never seen_

_The coloured lights in fountains, blue and green_

_And I imagine places that I will never go_

_Beyond these clouds that hang here, dark and low_

_Shut your eyes_ , he thinks. _It’ll all be over soon._

William’s brother is shouting again in the room next door. He’s shouting at mum, at dad, even at the dog. William dares to open his eyes for a moment to glance at the clock. He closes them immediately after registering that it’s currently two in the morning. He tries to block out the shouting in his ears and pictures the room he’s in, his bedroom. A long, thin room, with lots of books and not enough bookshelves. There are sketches on the floor of the world around him. Only seven, and William already shows an interest in everything. There are drawings of animals and insects and plants, but no people. William sits alone in his bed, his thin knees drawn up to the lower edge of his eyes. He pulls his knit blanket up closer to his chin and squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

 _Smash!_ Glass breaks against the wall of his brother’s room. William abandons his bed, running to the opposite end of his room, as far as he can possibly get from the noise. He pulls a book (Encyclopaedia of Animal Life) from the shelf and takes the little key sitting in its place. He unlocks the door he’s pressed against. William grabs his blanket and draws himself into the furthest recesses of his closet, pulling the door shut behind him. William begins to breathe easier. The closeness of the walls and the distance of the ceiling comfort him, and the tense muscles in his legs start to relax. The angry yells reduced to stressed whispers in the darkness, his blanket wrapped around him like armor, William relaxes his eyelids and falls asleep.

“William?”

“William, dear?”

A soft knock on the door of the closet wakes him. He doesn’t know if it’s morning or still night. The door creaks open, and mum’s face looks down at him. William crawls out of his blanket towards her, and she opens the door all the way to let him out. It’s still night. Glancing up at the clock, he sees he’s only been asleep half an hour.

“Why are you in the closet, William?” Mum gathers the blanket off the floor and helps her younger son back into bed.

“Hiding,” William murmurs sleepily, not quite awake yet.

“Hiding?” Mum’s whisper is full of surprise and a little indignant. “What were you hiding from?”

“From the shouting.”

Mum sighs and sits down on the bed at William’s feet.

“Listen to me, William. The shouting is difficult to listen to, I know. But it’s just your brother releasing stress. He’s going through a rough time at school, you know, and yelling’s the only way he knows how to let off steam.”

“What’s gone wrong at school?” William’s awake now, and his blue eyes are shining in the glow of the nightlight.

“A teacher of Mike’s is being difficult. Nothing you need to worry about.”

“But what broke? I heard something break!”

“Mike threw a water glass at the wall. He was exasperated.”

“But--”

“Too many questions for 2.43 am. If you’re still wondering things tomorrow, you can ask me then, all right?”

“All right, mum.”

After she leaves William’s room, Mrs Holmes leans against the bannister overlooking the staircase between her sons’ doors. Little William doesn’t need to know, she rationalizes, that his brother was threatening to move out. Or that the shattering glass was a rather expensive lamp. Or that Mycroft’s bags are already packed and stowed under his bed for whenever he does decide to leave. William doesn’t need to know these things, Mrs Holmes thinks as she meanders towards her room, because William is already so nervous and shy that any more worry might damage him irreparably. So Mrs Holmes lies to William, and doesn’t tell him that Mycroft is, at this very moment, wondering when the next train leaves for London.


	2. The Watsons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleven-year-old John Watson is sitting under the same sky as little William, but he's not scared and he's not alone.

 

_Nobody, nobody knows_

_Let the yoke fall from our shoulders_

_Don't carry it all, don't carry it all_

 

Miles away, an eleven-year-old boy is sitting in his lawn at a little fire surrounded by stones. He’s there with his little sister, looking at the stars. Suddenly, he flings his outstretched fingers towards her across the fire, causing her to jump.  
  
“Stop it, John,” she whines.  
  
“Won’t,” he says stubbornly, crossing his arms and looking up at the sky. “Hey, Harry.”  
  
“What?” Harriet asks, glancing up at the clouds too.  
  
“How many stars d’you think there are?”  
  
“What kind of stupid question is that?”  
  
“I’m just wondering.”  
  
“Don’t _wonder_ , John, your thoughts are ridiculous.”  
  
“What does that mean?” John knits his eyebrows together, raising his torso on his elbows to frown at his sister.  
  
“I’m just _saying_ ,” says the nine-year-old, “you’re not the brightest.”  
  
“And I suppose you are!” John gets to his feet, his jumper rumpled a bit by the grass.  
  
“Yes,” Harriet replied, getting to her feet too. “I am!”  
  
They stand at odds there, John only barely taller than Harriet. John’s sandy hair and near-constant frown hover in the darkness above his unironed button-up shirt and dark red jumper. Harriet is a stark contrast to her brother, with her straight, silky, chin-length hair and glasses. She wears a jumper too, over a dress. John sighs and turns away from Harry, looking back through the dark at the house. He sighs again, deeper, and sits down, turning his back to the building.  
  
“You know,” John whispers, leaning over the fire, “Someone _died_ in the forest here.”  
  
“Oh, come on,” Harry scoffs, “I’m not a kid, John. I know you’re just trying to freak me out.”  
  
“No, really. Her name was Geraldine, and she was killed by a wolf in the heart of the woods.”  
  
In spite of herself, Harry draws her knees closer to her on the ground where she sits and widens her grey-green eyes.  
  
“She lived in our house a really long time ago. And she was a know-it-all, and her mum warned her not to go into the woods, but she didn’t listen--”  
  
“John! Harriet!” Both of the children’s heads whip around to the house. Their mother stands at the open door, light spilling out onto the freshly dewy grass.  
  
“Time to go to bed!” John and Harry stand up and extinguish the fire, racing each other inside. Their parents are sitting at the table. Their family is so traditional, and it’s exhibited by Mother’s high-collared dress and Father’s well-ironed suit, both worn even in the comfort of their own home. Despite the suffocating stillness of the family, both John and Harry feel very free and able to do and say whatever they please. Out of the corner of his eye, John sees Harry stand on her toes and take a sniff of Father’s wine glass, and almost drinks from it until Father gives her a stern look.  
  
John changes and gets into bed, but he doesn’t fall asleep for nearly four hours, staring at, no, staring through the ceiling, past the attic, way up into the sky at the moon that little William is gazing at too.

 

 


	3. The Hoopers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four-year-old Molly Hooper is too young to know what's gone wrong with everything, but old enough to bear the burden by herself.

_When I was a child, everybody smiled_

_Nobody knows me at all_

_Very late at night, and in the morning light_

_Nobody knows me at all_

 

“Cake?”

The woman in the pink dress holds a paper plate a little above the eye level of the little girl. She nods and gratefully takes the plate and the fork, sitting down (or up) on an old wooden chair in the corner of the big living room decked out in balloons and streamers. Molly swings her legs off the edge of the chair, still a good five inches from the ground. Eating the cake slowly, her brown eyes scan the room. Six or seven kids are here, all her age. Emma is turning 5 before Molly. Everyone does everything before Molly. But that doesn't matter now, she’s having fun at a birthday party! It’s good! There’s cake and ice cream and presents!

Speaking of presents, hopefully Molly’s is acceptable. Julie, another girl at the party, has already told her that she bought a collection of jumpers from Emma's favorite clothes store. Molly already knows she’d never admit it, but her family could never afford that. Molly’s skirt has been patched two, three, four, five times and she’s given in and just cut off the frayed sleeves of her blouse. Molly’s hair is long, and her mother braids it excellently.

Because Molly is poor, but she has never, ever felt unloved by her mother or her aunt. Her dad scarpered shortly after she was born; she never knew him. Her aunt moved in soon afterwards. Mum and Aunt Sarah are very different. Mum appears in the door when Molly has nightmares. Mum holds her close and sings lullabies, and dries her tears. Mum goes into the kitchen when she thinks no one can see her and she cries, too. Aunt Sarah tells Molly and Mum to pull themselves together. She’s kind, but she doesn't care for weakness.

She tells Molly, “Don’t let a man run your life.” Mum nods weakly in agreement.

“Fall in love, go ahead,” Aunt Sarah gestures into thin air with her hand. “But never hesitate to tell him his faults.”

And Molly doesn't quite get what Aunt Sarah means yet, but she knows it’s important. So she follows her advice, and she tells the boys at school just what she thinks of them.

But one boy doesn't really listen to her, or maybe he listens too much, because one day he hits her. He punches little, little, tiny Molly, and makes her shy. She goes home from school and doesn't tell Mum or Aunt Sarah what happened. Molly hides her face in her blanket in her bedroom and wants to run into the closet and hide, but she doesn't want to run anymore. She doesn't want to do anything. So Molly lies in her bed and looks out the window and gazes past the moon William and John are watching. She looks past it at the stars.


	4. The Moriartys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six-year-old James is alone in the darkness of his house when his mother comes home.

_There are times life will rattle your bones and will bend your limbs_

_You're still far away the boy you've ever been_

_So you bend back and shake at the frame_

_Of the frame you made_

_But don't you shake alone_

_Please Avery come home_

 

“Mrs Moriarty, we need to talk about your son.”

“Is he causing trouble in class? I know, sometimes he can be a handful, but--”

“No, no, that’s not the issue at all. The problem is... well, he doesn’t talk.”

“What, he doesn’t answer questions in class?”

“No. Well, yes, that, but I mean he doesn’t talk, ever.”

“Ever?”

“From 9.00 in the morning until the bus comes to take him away. He just doesn’t speak a word.”

“That seems a little ridiculous. He must talk sometimes.”

There’s a pause.

“Mrs Moriarty, I don’t know what your son’s voice sounds like. I have never heard him say a word in my life.”

“Maybe you’re not letting James do what he wants to enough. I mean, he knows himself better than you do, and you’re not his mother.”

“I understand you’re protective of your son, especially after Mr Moriarty--”

“Stop.”

“My condolences, I’m very sorry--”

“Goodbye, thank you for telling me about James.”

 

Anne Moriarty goes home that night to a dark house. At first she thinks James turned the lights out himself, but she realizes the power’s out when she tries to flick the switch in the kitchen.

“James?” she calls up the stairs.

Silence. Anne walks slowly up the steps, each one creaking a little more under her worn shoes.

“James?” she calls again.

The doors upstairs are hanging open, except for the one at the end of the hall, which is shut tight. James’ room. Anne knocks softly on the door, and it opens slowly. She looks across the room to where little six-year-old James is sitting on his bed, holding the string connected to the ceiling connected to the door. Anne sits on the bed.

“Little genius,” she whispers.

James says nothing, only stares out the window into the darkness.

“Your teacher says you don’t talk in class, James.”

Nothing.

“James, honey, are you all right?”

James shakes his head, then nods, then shakes his head no again.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

No.

“Jim? Little Jim. Jim, please tell me what's going on at school.”

James meets her eyes. “They don’t know me,” he says quietly.

“Oh, Jim, honey, they never will unless you take the time to know them.”

“But I don’t want to talk to them. They only ask me about Dad.”

“If they ask you about Dad, tell them what you want to and nothing more.”

James is silent until he whispers, “Why did Dad die, Mum?”

Anne sighs and puts her arms around her son, hugging him close to her.

“Because... because, sometimes, that’s what people do. We can’t control it, all we can do is make the most of our life before it happens to us too.”

James shrugs off his mother’s arms and clings to the windowsill by his bed, looking out at the darkness again.

“I’m going downstairs to find something for a snack, all right? I love you, Jim.”

James doesn’t reply, and looks out the window again. He’s not looking at the moon like the other boys, or the stars like Molly. Jim looks at the darkness, and regrets forever that he didn’t say “I love you, too” on the night Anne Moriarty didn’t make it out of the house on fire that burned the heart out of him.


	5. The -Anders- Morstans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A girl whose initials are A.G.R.A. lies on the floor and listens to the silence.

_It's a dark, twisted road we are on_

_And we all have to walk it alone_

 

The empty house expands and expands in the little girl’s mind. To her, lying on the floor, the house is endless, the house is infinity. She’s nine years old and she already understands the silence in the building, knows what’s causing it, knows what it means. Adela Genowefa Regina Anders lies on the carpet and stares at the ceiling, ignoring the silence and the little whispers in the walls that are either mice or rats or ghosts. Adela thinks they’re ghosts. She remembers a story Nanny told her once about a girl who died who lives in the fields and protects children in the house.

“Is she protecting me, Nanny?” Adela asked.

“She is,” Nanny smiled.

“What is she called, so I can ask her for help when I need her?”

Nanny paused for a moment.

“She’s called Mary, dear.”

So in the darkness and the silence of the huge house, Adela closes her eyes and imagines little Mary, the same age as herself, holding her hand and whispering comforting words.

Mary sits in the window seat and looks out at the falling snow while her mother plays the piano in the other room, far at the other end of the house. Mamma plays a tune softly, and Papa hums along with her. Adela gets up and walks silently down the long, immaculate hallway, following the music. She pushes the door open lightly and looks in.

“Adela?” Mamma stops playing.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Papa frowns.

“Nanny!” Mamma calls loudly.

Nanny comes trotting down the hall and pokes her nose into the room.

“Take Adela to bed, will you, Nanny?”

Nanny takes Adela’s hand and leads her up, up, up the staircase, past the huge master bedroom, and to the little dusty room where Adela sleeps. Nanny helps her brush her teeth and her hair and puts her in bed, sitting by her feet.

“Do Mamma and Papa know Mary lives here too?” Adela whispers through the darkness.

“No, dear, I don’t believe so.”

“Do they talk to you more than they talk to me?”

“No, dear.”

An endless string of “No, dear”s. That’s Adela’s life.

And Nanny leaves Adela’s room, like she’ll leave the cold house at the end of the year, and Mr and Mrs Anders, like statues, at the piano and the window while the snow falls down outside, the only movement in the house anymore is Mamma’s fingers on the keys and Adela getting older and more restless, taking scissors to her hair one night and cutting it to her ears, and saying she’ll leave the house forever. And the ghost-girl grows with Adela until she’s sixteen and the ghost goes away, but Adela decides if she’s ever going to live her own life she’ll call herself Mary. But that night, when Adela was Adela and Nanny was in the house, and she was nine years old, she listened to her parents talk and the music rose up through the ceiling and Adela didn’t look into the dark, or the moon, or at the stars. Adela Genowefa Regina Anders, A.G.R.A., shut her eyes tight and pretended she didn’t care about anything at all.


	6. The Endings and The Beginnings

_Yesterday when you were young_

_Everything you needed done was done for you_

_Now you do it on your own but you find you're all alone_

_What can you do?_

_You, and me_

_Walk on, walk on, walk on_

_'Cause you can't turn back now_

 

In the next year, William turns eight. Mycroft, who is now eighteen, moves out of the house. When he calls or writes to William, he calls his little brother Sherlock and William decides to go by his middle name. John turns twelve, Harry turns ten, and they start ignoring each other completely. Molly turns five, last as usual, Aunt Sarah moves out, and Mum goes off the deep end. Jim is adopted on his seventh birthday by Mr and Mrs Moran (very cold people), and becomes the confidant of their son Seb. Adela turns ten, Nanny moves out, and she punches a boy on the schoolyard in the face, who took out his anger by hitting a little girl named Molly, who cried quietly over the phone to a friend named Harry, who asked her brother to do something, who refused, and instead walked down the road for miles and miles and didn’t look up at a house on a hill where a boy named Mycroft was saying goodbye to his little brother before taking the train far away.


End file.
